The Inheritance

The thud from Tyler’s bags echoed off the walls as he dropped them onto the dark hardwood floors, stirring up a layer of dust. The late afternoon sun flooded into the room from the open door behind him, illuminating the view of his new home. The foyer was a regal, intimidating room with a high ceiling. To the left, a sweeping staircase curved up to the second floor which was hidden in shadows. He could see a hallway straight ahead of him and a stately living room to his right. The place looked expensive and uninviting, quite a difference from his cozy University dorm room. It made him wonder whether it was a smart idea to move into his uncle’s house. His house. He had to get used to that.

“Mind giving me a hand?” his dad said, coming up behind him carrying a box. Tyler took it from his dad and set it down on the ornate bench next to the door. They returned to the truck to get the last of Tyler’s possessions. His dad’s pick-up looked like a neglected toy in the shadow of the old Victorian house. The grey stone dwelling stuck out of the landscape like a tombstone, stark and strong. A crow flew to perch on the roof and cawed three times.

“Arghhhh” his dad yelled as he went back into the house. “Goddamn it Tyler, watch where you put stuff, I almost broke my neck!” he swore, trying to regain his composure. School books, pens and papers spilled across the floor. The box had fallen from the bench and his dad tripped over the debris.

“Sorry dad, must’ve been the wind,” Tyler said, shrugging although he couldn't feel a breeze. He could've sworn he placed the box flush against the wall. The hairs on the back of his arm stood on end but Tyler brushed off the feeling of unease. He stooped to clean-up the mess.

“Right, well, you’ve got to take care of your things,” his dad admonished, “especially now that you have your own place”. His dad looked about the house, taking in the elegantly patterned wallpaper, velvet furnishings and opulent light fixtures. “This place looks like a museum.”

Tyler explored further into the house, ambling over to an imposing bookshelf in the corner of the living room. The staged shelves had a number of curious items. Tyler guessed his uncle had picked them up from his travels. On one of the shelves there were a few old framed photographs on display next to a rosary and a little gold crucifix. He picked up a photo and wiped away the dust obscuring the image. A cold shiver went down his spine as he locked eyes with the image of his mother. She was standing next to a man lying in a hospital bed. The man was clearly sick and shrunken, a small black notebook clutched in his hands.

His dad peered over his shoulder. “That was taken when Greg was sick with cancer. His doctors had given him 3 months to live. Said it was a miracle he recovered. My god, he looked like skin and bones. That was probably about 10 years ago,” he said thoughtfully, “and look at your Ma, always as pretty as a peach.” Tyler could feel a lump forming in his throat. He choked back the tears. It had been a while since he cried over his mother’s death and he didn’t want to bring up memories of her passing.

Tyler examined the next photograph. It depicted his uncle standing on a yacht, leaning casually against a rail. He had a winning smile on his face but Tyler thought his eyes seemed calculated and cold.

“When was this taken?” Tyler asked.

“I’d say that was about 5 years ago from the looks of it. After his recovery, Greg made a fortune trading gold. His life really turned around after beating cancer. He was much more… driven. I guess something like that changes a person. He came into his money then set off around the globe. Your Ma and I didn’t see much of him for years. Then he came back, bought this place, and became a bit of a shut in. Then well….” His voice trailed off.

Tyler knew what was unsaid. Greg had committed suicide a few months after Tyler’s mom had passed away. Not having any kids of his own, he had willed his house and $20,000 cash to his only nephew. The rest of his wealth had been donated to different churches and monasteries around the world.

His dad cleared his throat, obviously uncomfortable. “Well, I should be heading out. Give me a call if you need anything.” He pulled Tyler into a bear hug. “I love you Ty. I mean it. If there’s anything, just call.”

As the door swung shut behind his dad, Tyler let out a sigh. A wave of loneliness washed over him as he sank onto the floor. He held his face in his hands and slowly breathed in and out trying to calm his racing mind. So much had happened in the last year. His mother’s car accident, his uncle’s suicide, dropping out of University, moving into this cavernous house. He felt like he had whiplash. He just wanted to turn back the clock to a year ago when everything made sense.

Abruptly, the feeling of unease returned and his hair began to prickle as it stood on end, shaking him out of spiralling further into self-pity. Curiously, he felt he was being watched, like there was another presence lurking nearby. His body tensed as he looked around. The house was utterly silent, oppressively so. His eyes flicked to the second floor and he thought he saw movement.

“Hello?” Tyler called, proud that his voice didn’t waver.

He got up from the floor and cautiously went up the stairs. He turned on the lights as he reached the landing and they flickered on to illuminate an empty hallway. Still on edge, he slowly advanced, wishing he had thought to grab some sort of weapon. The first door he pushed open was a bathroom. He glanced around furtively and after determining that no one was there, he moved on. The next two doors revealed spacious bedrooms, devoid of life. Heart pounding, he pushed open the last door and found himself in a grand and dignified circular study. A pen rolled off the polished oak desk, making him jump. He quickly looked around the room. He was the only one there. He let out the breath he didn’t know he had been holding.

The wall behind the desk had books from floor to ceiling. It was a vast collection of tomes. Many of the leather-bound volumes were withered from age, the gold leaf letters peeling. The rest of the office was handsomely furnished. A stone fireplace was opposite the vast desk, with a worn chaise pulled up next to it. Tyler picked up the pen and returned it to the desk, noticing a small, black notebook. Curious, he opened it up. He noticed the inside cover had the initials G.H. engraved. This must have been his uncle's journal. The handwriting was cramped and spiky and the pages were full of writing.

April 3, 2011 - These may be the last words I write. The doctors have given me the news - I have less than 3 months to live. Writing this down makes the diagnosis feel more real. It’s taken a great deal of effort just to get this out. I’m starting to lose hope that I’ll find a cure.

April 6, 2011 - Karina brought her son Tyler to visit today. He’s a sweet kid and loves cars. Wouldn’t stop talking about them. It was so refreshing to talk about something other than my diagnosis or treatment. His chatter disturbed my roommate and he hollered at us to keep quiet. Miserable old man. After their visit I couldn’t do any research, I was exhausted.

Tyler forced himself to stop reading. It felt like an invasion of privacy. He was feeling conflicted but then his eyes fell on the next entry and his curiosity consumed him. He slipped into the chair next to him and started reading with renewed interest.

April 7, 2011 - My work today went exceptionally well - I think I may have done it! I found a way out of this terrible fate. I need to translate the Latin inscription to be sure, but this is the most promising finding I’ve come across. All is not yet lost!

April 10, 2011 - Pain. So much pain. The last few days I’ve just been in and out of a cloud of pain and oblivion. The nurses had to sedate me. In my waking hours I feel haunted that I’m so close to finding a cure, yet I can’t even hold the books in my lap.

April 11, 2011 - I’ve done it. But there’s a price. A horrible price. I’m not sure if I’ll be able to live with myself after the ritual. It calls for a soul to be sacrificed and it will only buy me 10 years. Will have to think long on this.

April 12, 2011 - My roommate received the same prognosis as me. He’s in the last stages now too. Wouldn’t it be a kindness? A release from pain? The trade of his 3 months for 10 years of life for me?

April 13, 2011 - I’ve asked my sister to get the appropriate supplies, though I added a few items so she wouldn’t get suspicious. She thinks I’m getting superstitious as my condition gets worse.

April 22, 2011 - It is done.

April 23, 2011 - They took away my roommate’s body. They seem to believe he died in his sleep.

April 25, 2011 - I feel alive. It has worked.

April 26, 2011 - My doctors are surprised with my recovery. They’re calling it a miracle.

April 30, 2011 - I feel stronger every day. Today I was able to walk down the corridor.

May 27, 2011 - I’ve been discharged from hospital. I’m in complete remission. My life begins anew.

What did he just read? Was that a confession? Wanting to know more about the man he had inherited all of this from, Tyler started reading from where he left off. His uncle journaled on and off for years, leaving large lapses in time. He documented his travels mostly, which were often to visit temples, churches, caves, or libraries. He spent many months pouring over texts in Vatican City. It seemed that he was always searching for answers to paranormal questions. He mused over historical events and artifacts. He wrote obsessively on findings about demons...

Tyler woke with a start. He must’ve dozed off reading the accounts of his uncle. The notebook had fallen open to the last page.

February 11, 2021 - I can’t take what has happened and I haven’t been able to find a way out of the awful fate that waits for me on April 22. The demon will come calling for a soul and in all of my research I haven’t been able to find a way to stop it. I’m better leaving this world on my own terms. Hopefully my death will be able to stop the events I’ve put in motion.

Tyler was bewildered by what he just read. His uncle had committed suicide because he was afraid a demon would get him? Obviously he was deranged. Tyler tried to comfort himself. He reread the entry. April 22nd. That’s tomorrow, he thought. He sat back in his chair and gazed up at the large clock that hung above the fireplace. It was much later than he had realized. As he watched, the hands of the clock reached for the twelve. Midnight.

The doorknob to the study began to turn.